Tales from beyond the grave (short horror stories) [On Hold for now]

Mom, Dad, I'm home!

"Open the door, Mom!" Teddy cried out, knocking at the door. "I'm back!"

Martha and Alan were in the living room. They could see their son through the window next to the door as he called them out from the porch.

"Alan," Martha said in a weak whisper. "He is back."

"Why is he back?" Alan said grimly, his cheeks sunken in, dark circles outlined his eyes.

"Hell, if I knew." Martha said. She was in the armchair next to Alan. She had been in that chair last night. She hadn't slept a wink either.

"Open up, Mom!" Teddy cried out from outside. "Let me in!"

"Why doesn't he go away?" Alan grit his teeth.

"Hell, if I knew."

"You didn't use the axe properly, did you?"

"I did."

"No you didn't!"

"Can't you see the blood on his shirt!" Martha snapped.

She was right. There was indeed blood on Teddy's shirt. And large ghastly cut across his stomach. "Then how the hell did he even come back?" Alan sank back in his chair.

"It's all your fault." Martha scowled at Alan, not taking her eyes off their son who hadn't stopped knocking at the door. "If only you'd used enough gasoline."

"I'd used a whole gallon! I'd thrown the ashes in the river myself." He said. "But that freak..." He clenched his fists.

"He'd been covered in ashes when he came back then." Martha said glumly.

"He wasn't covered in them. He was ashes." Alan rolled his eyes. 

Martha grimaced. "Why was he always such a freak?" She stared at the boy who was now pressing his face against the window next to the door, his pale blue lips turning into a rictus grin as he stared stared right back at her.

"Freaks aren't born. Freaks are made. And boys are most impressed upon by their moms." Alan said with disgust.

Martha glared at him. "You are really gonna blame me?"

"Of course! You were the one who used to kick his dog because he wouldn't stop yapping."

"And what about when you got drunk and beat the hell out of him because he was a little late to bring you ice for your booze?"

"What about when you locked him in the toolshed without food for entire twenty four hours? Just cuz he didn't score enough on his essay about 'My dear mom' at school?"

"What about when--"

Alan raise a hand to stop her. "Okay, shut up, he was a freak. Period." He said. "Our parents punished us when we were little too. We never went out to carve out live kittens."

Martha nodded. "You remember his playmate, Denisse? He almost convinced her to swallow the sewing needle."

Alan scoffed. "Of course I remember. Her old man came at me with a shotgun." He said. "As if I was responsible for how this little shit treated women."

They both let out a sigh in unison, tired.

"Mom, open the door!"

"But he shouldn't have did what he did," Martha said, "with Grace, I mean."

"The girl is just four."

"She is gonna be traumatized for life."

"You think she'll report us...to the cops?  For what we did to Teddy?"

"She won't."

"And I'm sure she didn't understand what she saw either." Martha tried to smile. "It's all fun an games for her."

Alan smiled a bit too. "The girl is just four, afterall."

"You think she would've jumped off that cliff...with him?" She said. "She loved her brother. Even if he was a freak."

"But she didn't. We got there in time." Alan sighed in relief.

"Right, we can't have two freaks knocking on that door right now." Martha rolled her eyes. "One is bad enough." 

"Mom, open the door!"

"Isn't this the third--"

"Fourth." Martha said. "Fourth time he came back."

Alan scowled. "Freak."

"What do you think he'll do if we do let him in?"

"He won't leave."

Martha scoffed. "He doesn't seem to be planning on leaving right now either."

"He might do something worse." 

"Like what?" 

Alan hesitated. 

"The only thing he is capable of is being a freak." Martha said. "The only problem with that little shit is he keeps coming back no matter how many times we--"

Alan raised his hand again. He shook his head. "It's not his fault that he was born."

Martha made a snorting sound. "Oh yeah? And so it is our fault that he won't die?" Martha threw her hands up and rose to her feet. "That little freak was always a freak, even before he started carving up kittens and trying to drown his playmates. We sent him to school and on his first day he predicted that a truck was gonna hit his teacher on his way home. And guess what? It did! Next he predicted, Mrs. Demillo's daughter was gonna jump off the terrace. And she did! He predicted the cattle would die of small pox. They did! All he ever foretold was misfortune!" Martha spat. 

"Hey, mom!" Teddy called out, his face still grinning like an idiot pressed up against the glass. "You're both gonna get shot in guts!" Teddy cackled.

Martha glared at the boy. "See? That's all he's good for." She rolled her eyes.

"You don't think it will come true, do you?" Alan asked. "Us getting shot, I mean." 

"Last time, he said, we'll burn. Did we burn?"  

Alan sighed and rose from his chair. "I'll go get the shot gun." He said. "Let's hope the freak stays dead this time." He went into his study where he kept the gun. 

"I'll go and check if Grace's room is still locked."

"Make sure she is sleeping too."

"I'm sure she is, I gave her two sleeping pills. She will be out like a light." Martha said, walking up the stairs. "Still, I'm gonna go and check."  

Both of the left the living room while Teddy kept calling out from outside. "Mom, let me in!" 

Alan walked into his study, reached into his drawer where he kept the keys to the cabinet that had the shotgun and the shells. But the keys weren't in the drawer. They were hanging from the cabinet door that was ajar. And the shotgun was missing. Alan stopped breathing.

"Alan!" Martha screamed as she rushed into the study. "Grace's room was open! And she wasn't inside! And I found these under her pillow." She showed him the sleeping pills. 

Before Alan could say anything, they heard the latch of the front door unlock. Then the creaking of hinges.

They both peered into the living room. Grace and Teddy stood out on the porch as the door swung open. Grace handed the gun over to her big brother with a smile. "I did as you'd asked, big bro." She said in a delight. 

Teddy patted her head lovingly. "Thanks, sis." He turned back and regarded his parents with the same rictus grin he had earlier. He cocked the shotgun. "Mom, Dad, I'm home!"